


The College Experience

by Neyiea



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Not Active Town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Not Active Town used to be perfect. The college students were quiet and lethargic, too tired or distracted by studying to question Bradley's occasional outfit swaps, villainous plans, or ask if he was even a fellow student.Thenhecame along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Not Active Town AU stuff from tumblr is really fun so I had to do something for it.

Bad Bradley has been loitering around in the library for hours, not doing any studying himself of course—don’t make him laugh—but instead assisting the poor souls who find themselves pouring over textbooks without stopping, who sit in the same place for hours in absolute silence until they look like they’re about ready to fall asleep on top of open pages.

He loves the period leading up to exams. No one has time to do anything but study and pray that they’ll pass, no one stares at his carefully crafted costume as if they don't understand why he's suddenly wearing glasses and a sweater-vest, no one has any energy to resist his schemes. It reminds him of the good old days.

He scans the library for any student who may not yet have been graced with his influence, and his eyes settle upon a familiar figure.

“Good evening, Michael,” he greets as he slips into the seat beside the prim boy.

“It’s Mikey,” he responds without looking up from his accounting book.

“Whatever. How’s studying going?”

“Honestly? I feel like I’m having an out of body experience, I think I’m dying.”

Bradley nods, humming under his breath in mock thought before perking up. “You’ll feel better if you eat something, here.” Bradley digs through his bag for a can of soda and a cellophane wrapped package, setting them in front of Mikey graciously.

“Are these… Homemade cookies?”

“Yes.” He leans back in his chair proudly, balancing on the back legs, arms crossed behind his head. “That’ll give you the caffeine and sugar you need to get through the night.”

Mikey unwraps the package and eats one, then rapidly consumes another, apparently he hadn’t even realized he was hungry until that very moment. Bradley closes his eyes and grins.

All in an evening’s work.

“Hola amigo.”

Bradley barely manages to keep from shrieking at the sudden greeting. He jerks and then desperately tries to fling his upper body forward while the chair tips backward. His imminent and humiliating descent to the floor comes to an abrupt halt and he slowly opens his eyes, already dreading what he’ll find.

There’s Athletic Man, smiling down at him like he’s not the root cause of all of Bradley’s problems.

“You should be more careful,” he says easily, his accent damnably soothing, pulling Bradley’s chair up with no apparent effort so that it is once against resting on all four legs. “I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

Bradley crosses his arms and refuses to acknowledge the nuisance. 

At least until said nuisance settles into the chair on Mikey’s other side, a concerned look gracing his features.

Oh no, Bradley thinks dimly, it has begun. 

“You know Mikey, sometimes when you think your body is hungry, really what it needs is sleep.”

“But… Studying.”

“Your books will still be there for you tomorrow, no? And how much information do you think you’re retaining when you’re tired? It would be better for you to go home and get some rest.”

“Don’t tell the man what to do. He’s in charge of himself,” Bradley gripes from Mikey’s other side. Athletic Man leans forward a bit so he can see Bradley better.

“Of course he is. But friends help friends take care of each other, right? Also.” He taps a finger on the pop-can twice. “Beverages without lids aren’t allowed in the library.”

“I don’t know…” Mikey trails off, glancing between the both of them like they’re the devil and angel on his shoulders that he never thought he’d have to deal with. “I still feel pretty hungry. I think it might be because I…” He trails off and resolutely does not look at Athletic Man as he admits, “I skipped dinner.”

There will be no end to it now, Bradley thinks with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Athletic Man’s expression becomes ten times more concerned. He slips out of his chair before he can watch the hero do something wretched, like procure a banana from out of nowhere.

It used to be so good here in Not Active Town; the college students were abundant and constantly drained. They went to class, they studied, they ate whatever was most convenient, and they slept for as long as they could. When they had time off most of them just stayed inside to play video games or watch Netflix in their pyjamas, and occasionally go to the small grocery store near campus to pick up instant noodles and ice cream.

Yes, things had been perfect, and Bad Bradley remembered those times with distinct fondness.

But then…

Some new student had come to the college, had surveyed all of Bad Bradley’s frankly amazing progress, and had said to themselves: no, this won’t do.

And then they’d hijacked a drone, taped a message onto it, and flown it up into the clouds as if that was a normal thing to do!

Then, from up on high, he descended. A pointy-eared pest with a soft smile, a stupid moustache, and frankly alarming thighs that he seemed keen to show off no matter the weather. 

And bit by bit he was slowly destroying all of Bradley’s work. Leading yoga sessions on the field that anyone could join in on, getting people interested in athletic clubs, handing out flyers about proper nutrition and the benefits of sleep, starting a campus vegetable garden…

Bradley slumps against the exit to the library dramatically, one hand cast over his forehead as if in mid-swoon.

“Will my suffering never end,” he asks the world at large.

“No,” says one of the computer science students who is tapping away on their laptop, they don’t even bother looking up. “Exams are soon. The suffering is only just beginning.”

Well, if Bradley is going to be told that sort of negativity to his face then he’s not going to even bother offering the obviously exhausted student a five-hour energy drink.

He returns to his basement apartment just off campus and stays up the whole night to stress-bake half a dozen pies from scratch.


	2. Chapter 2

Bad Bradley does not play favourites, he is a villain and playing favourites is for people who care excessively about others.

But if you perhaps had him at gunpoint and asked him who his favourite students were he might just let it slip that he had a soft spot for those within the school of Media, Art, and Design. There’s certain qualities to them; frequent all-nighters, love of video games and cartoons, their tendency to sit and work on a single project for hours without stopping, that he finds endearing.

Which is why when he sees Athletic Man talking to one of the girls in computer animation, all smiling and pleasant, he feels something flare up inside of him.

He strides up to Athletic Man, a frown settling heavily on his features, and pointedly taps Athletic Man on the shoulder.

He turns, sees Bradley, and his smile widens as if he’s actually happy to see him.

“Hey.”

“Hay is for horses,” Bradley recites irritably, crossing his arms and glaring.

The animation student lets out a snort of laughter before slipping away, apparently not interested in watching the confrontation take place, probably because the routine has become somewhat predictable.

“The arts are my domain. Stay away from them.”

“Your domain?” Athletic Man tilts his head curiously, and he may only be an inch taller than Bradley at most but oh, what Bradley wouldn’t give to be a little bit taller, a little bit more intimidating. “How so?”

“How shall I put this? Traditional artists: do I buy paint or do I buy groceries? The answer is paint. Animation students: do I pull an all-nighter in the lab or go home to sleep? The answer is an all-nighter. Graphic design students—“

Athletic Man raises a hand, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “They buy paint instead of groceries?”

“Of course they buy paint instead of groceries! Art students are all about suffering for their creations!”

“It’s true,” calls a video game development student from across the hall. Hal, Bradley thinks his name is, or maybe Pascal, something overtly nerdy. He’s currently sipping on what Bradley knows for a fact is his third coffee of the day even though it’s only noon.

“See!” Bradley gestures in their direction pointedly.

“But. What do they eat?”

“Instant ramen, mostly,” the video game student replies, then he downs the rest of his coffee like a champ.

Athletic Man gets a look on his face, like he’s terrified and incredibly sad all at once.

Bradley’s fingers twitch with the need to do something, but he doesn’t quite know what.

“The sodium content in one of those packets alone… They must be so dehydrated, not to mention what it must be doing to their blood pressure.”

“They’re too young to care about blood pressure anyways!” Bradley stomps his foot.

“Bradley, amigo—“

“I am not your amigo!”

“Of course you are,” Athletic Man says smoothly, not at all put off by Bradley’s screeching. “But really, high blood pressure is such a huge risk factor for chronic disease later on in life, I’ll be sure to check in on the art students more often, I can get them all the fresh sportstreats that they need to help balance out their diet.”

Bradley cradles his face in his hands and whines softly against his palms.

A hand comes down to rest lightly on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

The whine turns into a groan, and he lets his hands fall away from his face and stares at the zipper of Athletic Man’s sweater. 

“It’s a pretty rough time for everyone on campus right now, huh?”

“This is how I like it to be on campus.” His eyes flick upward briefly, then drift to the side to stare at the hand that is mysteriously still on his shoulder. “I’m a villain, I feed off of stress.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy. You know, if you’ve got some free time I was going to go out on the field to lead some yoga—“

Bradley is off like a shot, unwilling to stay any longer and risk being invited to join in on Athletic Man’s yoga session. 

He has standards. The only way he involves himself in that activity at all is to occasionally blast metal to mask the calming music Athletic Man plays during his irritatingly popular ‘yoga on the field’.

And also he has no desire to watch Athletic Man contort himself into poses that honestly should not be possible. No desire at all.

In fact, the only thing he wants right now is to eat an entire pie by himself. That is all he has ever yearned for.

An hour and one raspberry pie later he gets a text from an unknown number that states: ‘Just finished yoga, want to go out for a smoothie?’

There is a chance that it’s not Athletic Man texting him, his yoga sessions are still going strong even during this miserable period of time, although Bradley can’t really imagine why a student would invite him, a villain, anywhere. 

‘Who is this? How did you get this number?’

‘Athletic Man. We exchanged numbers at the last pub night.’

Bradley very slowly puts his phone down and thinks about the last pub night before exam preparation madness began, where he’d essentially drunk a bottle and a half of cheap rosé wine.

Now that he thinks about it he does have vague memories of someone forcing him to drink multiple glasses of water as he waited for a cab. And Athletic Man was notorious for hanging around on pub nights to make sure no one drank too much or decided it would be a good idea to drive home while intoxicated. 

His phone buzzes with an incoming message.

‘Smoothie?’

‘No thank you,’ he texts back, sending it before realizing that his sarcasm doesn’t translate well without vocal inflection. 

‘Okay, maybe some other time.’

Athletic Man sends him a smiley face.

Bradley grabs a pillow to scream into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bradley is suffering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Bradley is a Big Softie™

The thing about students in the arts is that they don’t have written exams, they have final projects; so while most students shut themselves away in libraries, study rooms, or their own homes to pour quietly over their notes art students can instead be found spending their nights in studios or computer labs. Sometimes they blast music in order to help keep themselves awake, sometimes they sign into the teacher’s computer to play movies on the projector screen. When there are large groups together they often interact with each other, loud in a way that is much more noticeable when the rest of the college is completely deserted. 

The sort of noisy, organized chaos they create makes him feel distantly proud.

He likes to check in on them at night, since their sleeping habits are just as terrible as his own and there’s always at least one person who’s burning the midnight oil. He sometimes brings them sweet coffee and donuts, not out of the goodness of his heart—of course not—but because he was happy to have a dependable group of people consistently living the life that a college student ought to.

All-nighters filled with eating junk and dry jokes about needing a caffeine IV.

He can’t wait for all of their final projects to be done, because art students are an absolute riot when they let loose to celebrate. That’s what happens when you take groups of people who haven’t seen natural light for days, have completely messed up their circadian rhythms, and mix them liberally with alcohol and pounding music that can be heard from two blocks over.

He lives for end-of-term parties. It won’t be much longer now until every dorm room and every rented house is brought to life with a cacophony of gatherings that last all night and well into the morning.

Take that Athletic Man. No one’s going to want to do yoga when they’re hung over and exhausted.

He’s strolling away from the game lab where a few students with red eyes and a very distinctive smell lingering on their jackets were taking a brief nap while their levels rendered, and happens across the animation student from the other day briskly walking down the hall.

“Oh,” she stops, and looks oddly relieved to see him. “Hi Bradley.”

“Bad Bradley,” he corrects, more out of reflex than anything.

“Yes, of course,” she casts a quick glance over her shoulder, like she expects to see someone there.

Something twists sharply in the pit of Bradley’s stomach. There’s a reason why he isn’t exactly the greatest villain around—he’s not on any top ten list that’s ever been published—and it’s not just his lack of motivation regarding almost everything except for baking and being an official disturber of the peace. He gets attached to people, even though he doesn’t necessarily make friends with them, and he’d rather see the young adults in his territory being tired, over-caffeinated, and eating sweets than feeling threatened.

“You’re getting out of here late,” he remarks. “Do you live on campus?”

“No, I, uh, rent a house with a couple friends a few blocks over.”

All the buses stopped running an hour ago.

“I just recently discovered an excellent recipe for fudge, I could tell you all about it as I walk you to your car.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Well,” he slips into place beside her, “I suppose if we’re walking a few blocks then I could also tell you the secret to making the perfect pie crust.”

They start walking together. Campus Security is in a completely different wing, and the chance that they’ll run into one of the guards on rounds isn’t spectacularly high. Bradley strains his ears to hear if anyone is following after them.

He’s so on edge that when they turn a corner and nearly run into someone he actually screams.

Athletic Man jerks at the sound, one hand splayed over his chest, eyes wide.

“¡Mierda! Bradley, are you okay?”

“Fine.” Bradley covers his face and wheezes, more embarrassed than anything. “Jesus Christ. I’m okay, I’m fine.”

“How about you Peggy? Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” she says with a tight smile, Bradley peeks through his fingers at her. “I’ve got a bit of an ex-boyfriend problem, but I think Bradley helped scare him off for now.”

Athletic Man’s face, usually so calm that it has an almost sleepy look to it, gains a hard edge.

“Would you like us to walk you to the security desk?”

“Please,” she says with a nod.

They walk her to security; she explains the situation to the female guard who repeats bits and pieces of it into her walkie-talkie, then Bradley and Athletic Man stick around for long enough for the cab that was called for her to come up to the building’s main entrance before walking her out.

Bradley slips money into her purse for cab fare. Reverse pick-pocketing is somehow even more difficult than normal pick-pocketing, but he manages.

He watches the cab drive off and then slowly becomes aware that Athletic Man is just standing there. Silently. Staring at him.

“Well, good night,” Bradley says stiffly. “I’ll see you in the morning when I hijack your yoga session in order to play death metal.” He turns swiftly on his heel and begins to stride away.

Footfalls come after him.

“Are you following me?”

“No, I live this way too.”

“Really?” He finds that incredibly hard to believe, so he turns to glare at him.

Athletic Man is smiling at him in an absolutely disarming manner.

“What? Is there something on my face?”

“No, no. I’m just glad that you were looking out for Peggy. I was all the way over in the library when I felt trouble brewing.”

“I wasn’t looking out for her, I was talking to her about pie.”

Athletic Man hums, clearly not convinced. Bradley scoffs.

“I don’t have time to argue about this anyways. Think what you like, I need to get home so that I can lay around and do nothing.”

“You mean sleep?” 

“Same difference. What are you doing up so late anyways? Don’t you usually go to sleep at some ridiculous hour?”

“You know the library has extended hours this week. I was just doing my last rounds before heading to bed. You don’t have to worry about me being tired, I took a nap this afternoon to compensate.”

“A nap. You.”

“Well, less of a nap and more of an hour long guided meditation session, but it was very restful all the same.”

This is what Bradley’s been reduced to, thwarted by a hero who chooses to lie still for an hour to do guided meditation instead of sleep, like a sensible person would.

“You really are something, you know?” It doesn’t come out quite as biting as he means it to. He blames the fact that he’s been awake for two days straight.

“Thanks,” Athletic Man grins, “you are too.”

Bradley’s face goes inexplicably hot.


	4. Chapter 4

Dawn creeps over Not Active Town, the new day bringing with it one certainty.

Tomorrow marks the start of exam week.

There’s a nervous energy that’s palpable all around campus, even as everything becomes almost unnervingly quiet as all students struggle to cram in as much work as they can.

Bradley feels alive as he flits through bookshelves, making sure everything is in perfect order. Final projects for students without exams will be due tonight, which will likely prompt a short hibernation session from the majority of them, and then as the days pass more and more students will be finished. And then…

Celebration. Drinking, dancing, screaming in sheer relief that they’ve handed in their final scantron sheets and essays. Noise and upheaval as the culmination of nervous energy finally spills over. 

Chaos.

He grins at the thought of it, adjusts his sweater-vest and glasses, and is heading into the literature section when he sees Athletic Man looking carefully at a bookshelf, a stack of books held in one arm while he carefully slots one thin tome into an empty space.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Oh, hi Bradley.”

Bradley, too used to Athletic Man being able to see through his clever costumes, doesn’t let the use of his name bother him.

“You don’t have to put the books back by yourself, you can leave them on the trolleys that are left out. That’s why they’re around in the first place.” He crosses his arms. “If you don’t follow the dewey decimal system to a tee you might put things back out of order, which will just create more work for me in the long run.” 

Hey, he had to make money to buy ingredients for homemade treats and energy drinks somehow, and his particular brand of villainy didn’t generally end in payoffs for his work.

Athletic Man blinks at him. “You’re working today? I thought you usually had weekends off, I’ve never seen you in on a Sunday before.”

“My part time hours get extended during exam season, hence why I’m wearing the disguise.” He gestures to the glasses on his face pointedly.

“Bradley, I hate to be the one to tell you this but there aren’t a whole lot of natural redheads on campus. I’m pretty sure everyone knows that it’s you.”

Bradley inhales sharply to respond, but has to remind himself that he probably shouldn’t raise his voice while he’s so close to the no-talking-zone of the library so he lets it out with a sigh and deflates.

Bringing in beverages without lids? Sure. Raising his voice enough that someone complained to the head librarian about him? No thanks. 

He reaches out a hand, fingers flicking in a movement that bids Athletic Man closer.

“Give me those books, I’ll make sure they’re put away properly.”

“I just wanted to be helpful,” Athletic Man says as he hands them over.

“I know. And I appreciate the sentiment,” he admits. “But I’ve seen too many students put things back in the entirely wrong place to risk it happening when I can do something to stop it.” His tone takes on a grouchy edge as he thinks about students shoving books into any open spot. “You have no idea how irritating it is to re-order shelves because people assume they’re putting things back in the right place.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

“See that you do.” Bradley scans the numbers tagged on the spines of the books, and then glances through the shelves in front of him. 

“Well,” he starts, any lingering irritation leaving him abruptly when he notices that the first book Athletic Man had shelved was in the correct spot. “At least you weren’t too far off when you started putting stuff back.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Athletic Man smile as he says, “You sometimes talk about the dewey decimal system when you’re tipsy. You’re very passionate about explaining it to anyone who will listen.”

“… Are you lying to me?”

“No!” Athletic Man laughs and leans in a little to whisper, “It’s made up of ten classes, divided into ten divisions, which has ten sections. I can’t remember all of the classes, but I think you mentioned that 300 is social science. Literature,” he lightly taps on a book, “is 800.”

This. Was something that he did not know about himself. Is this why no one took him seriously as a villain? They all assumed that he was just a particularly strange librarian? 

And why would Athletic Man just sit around and allow Bradley to explain a library classification system to him while he was plastered?

He’s not sure what to say in response so he hums under his breath to mask his mortification and kneels down to slide several books on the lowest two shelves, then stretches up on his toes to attempt to put the final book in its designated spot on the top shelf. He falls a few centimeters short of his goal and sighs. He’ll have to go a few rows back to grab a stepping stool. 

“Here, I can help with that.” 

The book is plucked out of his hand and Athletic Man leans up, right behind Bradley, chest pressing firmly against Bradley’s back, and just barely manages to put the book back where it belongs.

Bradley can feel his face burning, even as Athletic Man steps away. 

Curse his complexion. He probably looks like he’s suffering from a terrible sunburn. 

“Well,” his voice is an octave or two higher than usual, “thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” Athletic Man rests his arm against a shelf and smiles. “When are you done work today?”

“I’ve got another hour or so left, why?”

“Would you like to go out afterwards?”

Bradley purses his lips briefly and gives Athletic Man an appraising look.

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to spend time with you,” he says, effortlessly endearing. “We don’t have to get smoothies if you don’t want to. We could grab some herbal tea instead, from that place you like just off of Lackadaisical Street.”

That… Doesn’t sound terrible. Bradley is fond of a decent berry tea, sweetened with enough sugar and honey that it almost makes his molars ache. 

And it’s kind of touching, how Athletic Man somehow knows this. The power of observation was a remarkable thing. 

But he can’t just give in so easily! 

“I have a condition.”

Athletic Man’s grin widens, like he hadn’t quite expected for Bradley to do anything except refuse the offer. “What is it?”

Bradley fumbles into his pocket to take out his phone, nearly throwing it in Athletic Man’s face as he attempts to push it into his hands.

“I absolutely refuse to have you listed as ‘Athletic Man’ in my contacts. What if a fellow villain went through my phone and saw? Put a name in, it doesn’t even have to be yours. Call yourself John Smith, if you must.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh?”

Athletic Man leans in slowly, deliberately, until his mouth is just a hair’s breadth away from the shell of Bradley’s ear.

He whispers a name, then leans back just enough for Bradley to see the satisfied upturn of his lips.

“You can put that in your phone.” He hands Bradley’s phone back to him. “You can call me that when we’re alone, too.”

“Oh.” Bradley takes a moment to clear his throat. “Are you expecting us to be alone very often?”

“I wouldn’t mind if we were, as long as you don’t mind.”

“Well.” Bradley pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s see how tea goes first.”

“Right.” Athletic Man nods happily. “I promised some of the early childhood education students that I’d do guided meditation with them, but I can meet you at the front of the library once you’re done with your shift.”

“That works for me.”

“Great! See you then.” Athletic Man winks and then strides away, humming cheerily under his breath.

Bradley brings a hand up to his face and grins against his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bradley always hides his face so it just seemed a really fitting way to end this, haaaaaa.
> 
> Bradley's mysterious (magical?) power is being one of those librarians who, after you've been searching for a specific book for what feels like hours and finally succumb to asking for help, just reaches into the shelf and pulls out the exact thing you were looking for with absolutely zero effort. 
> 
> I've had a lot of fun writing these guys so I'll probably come back to them because jeez _how did I not even get them to kiss all I want is for them to kiss_. Also because college shenanigans are very dear to my heart.


End file.
